


Madness at Midnight

by MrFrank



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Dragons, Fantasy AU, Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrFrank/pseuds/MrFrank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months into his stay at the Royal Academy of Bravery and Alchemical Arts, Michael finally gets tired of his roommate, Gavin, sneaking out at night, and decides to follow him. Too bad he didn't notice the full moon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reworking of a fic I wrote for another fandom, but the idea there never really got off the ground. I thought it would work really well with these two though, so I decided to adapt it. I don't know if I intend to do anything else with this universe (maybe more oneshots? idk), but I would love your feedback on it all the same!

    Gavin Free wasn’t very sneaky.

    The secrets he tried to keep had a way of slipping out without notice, and his surprises tended to not be all that surprising by the time they were sprung. Of course, quiet and secretive weren’t exactly a part of Gavin’s usual personality anyway, so it made sense that the boy was just as bad about sneaking out of their room at night as he was about any other kind of sneaking he attempted in life. The boy was loud and friendly and open, and just simply not good at slipping one past anyone.

    That included _literally_ slipping past, as Gavin, thumping and bumbling about their dorm, attempted to slip past Michael and out into the hall.

   The pair had been rooming together for almost three months, and for the most part their budding roommateship had been smooth sailing. At first, Michael Jones had been worried that, if Gavin found out about his parentage, he would be without a roommate rather quickly. Dragon tamers were not generally popular people after all, dragons even less so, what with their many connections to villainous warlords and power hunger sorcerers. He was unexpectedly relieved when a cheerful Gavin arrived with his non-school sanctioned pet in hand.

    The little dragon, a pearlescent white Cave Glider, had bared its teeth at Michael, snuffed sulfuric fumes into the air, and quickly claimed their sock drawer as a makeshift den.

    Gavin called it Snowball. Michael called it Your Stupid Lizard Ate My Socks Again.

    And so Michael’s fears were quickly and happily put to rest, and he found himself making his first real companion at The Royal Academy of the Brave and Alchemical Arts. The duo shared many of the same classes, and liked to join each other for lunch. While whatever bond they were forming did not quite yet feel like friendship, Michael had to believe they were getting close.

    Which was a good thing, as it helped the pair overcome a few of the initial… _obstacles_ they had tackled as first time roommates, both in general and with one another.

    Michael would be the first to admit that he was not the tidiest. Dragons were known to frequent areas around The Academy and Michael, desperate to keep up with his training, had brought a varied assortment of dragon gear to practice with. Most of it spent more time scattered across the floor and draped over furniture than in use, however, as times for practice had proved to be few and far between. Also a fan of late-night snacking, empty energy drink cans and protein bar wrappers littered Michael’s section of the room. Gavin liked to hassle his roommate constantly about the trash collection, and yet Michael was always quick to point out how the young man was hardly any better.

    Himself in possession of his own strange eating habits, Gavin also had a nasty habit of getting his clothes beyond filthy. These clothes tended to end up in smelly, crusty nests in the corners of the room, where they would live for weeks on end. The boy actually seemed to generate filth, as more than once Michael awoke to patches of soil on the carpet, out of place in their third floor dorm. And it wasn’t just dirt, because boy did Gavin _shed_. Brown hairs dusted everything on Gavin’s half of the room, even beginning to encroach on Michael’s belongings. Never had the young dragon trainer seen such a thing.

    Snowball wasn’t much better, leaving a constant mess of scale sheddings in the socks, and damp dragon pellets under the beds. Not to mention the scorch marks that were getting harder and harder to hide during the monthly room inspections.

    Combined with all the mess, one would think their daily habits would be the end of them. Gavin seemed to think music could only be enjoyed when deafening, and it hadn’t taken Gavin long to point out the strangeness of Michael’s habit of near-constant nail trimming. Gavin’s wastebasket was filled with an uncomfortably high number of used q-tips, and Michael’s chorus of bodily noises while sleeping had woken Gavin on more than one occasion.

    And yet, for all the chaos of it, they liked it. Any teasing about the mess was all in good fun, and suddenly without a parent to scold them into cleaning or acting normal; the pair had no intention of living any other way.

    Although, there was _one_ thing Michael wouldn’t mind changing, he thought, as the dim hallway lights faded behind a closing door.

    It wasn’t often that Gavin snuck out. This was only the fourth time since they’d moved in together, at least that Michael had observed. The boy never mentioned anything about it before hand, and he was always back before morning. With a pet dragon in the dresser, Michael knew Gavin wasn’t exactly worried about breaking the campus curfew (or any other rule), yet the purpose of the boy’s secretive late night excursions continued to evade him.

    This single act of secretiveness from Gavin was rather unique. The pair told each other almost everything. Michael did it out of the simple relief of finally having someone _to_ tell everything to, and he assumed Gavin was simply friendly. But the young man never explained the late night trips. He never even _mentioned_ them. Michael had tried to broach it once, mentioning casually at breakfast that he thought he dreamed that Gavin snuck out during the night.

    Gavin had frozen. He’d questioned Michael about the dream, trying to seem nonchalant throughout. His wide eyes, and the nervous way he clenched his fists betrayed his nerves. Realizing he’d stepped into uncomfortable territory, Michael made up some quick response and let it drop.

    But while he’d left off questioning Gavin, Michael wasn’t about to let it go completely. Two weeks ago he’d resolved to find out what was going on once and for all, whether Gavin wanted him to or not. Obviously, whatever it was made Gavin very uncomfortable and Michael, unsure if he was motivated by curiosity, concern, or both, was going to find out what it was.

    As soon as Michael was sure Gavin was down the hall, he slipped out of bed. Across the room, Snowball chirruped lightly. Michael shushed the dragon and slowly opened the door. A quick glance showed him an empty hallway and, attempting to invoke every one of his novice stealth skills, Michael tiptoed down the hall.

    At the base of the stairs Michael spotted Gavin’s familiar tangle of brunet hair, and again in the courtyard as he ducked behind a bench to avoid Gavin’s cursory over-the-shoulder look. Peering over the back of the bench, Michael watched as, moving carefully, Gavin slipped around the side of the cafeteria and towards the woods that backed onto the campus.

    “Where are you going?” Michael whispered. Lifting up, he allowed himself a last, careful look around the empty courtyard, and then he hurried after his roommate.

    Michael spotted the boy again in the forest as Gavin slipped off the path and into darkness of the trees. Michael allowed himself one nervous thought, that maybe he should have brought a dagger, and then slipped into the darkness as well.

    For a short time they dodged together through the trees, Michael remaining just out of sight as they delved deeper into woods that Michael had barely explored during the day, let alone at night. He frowned to himself as they journeyed deeper into unfamiliar territory.

    If he lost Gavin now there would be no way he could find his way home on his own.

    Just as the thought began to erode Michael’s curiosity and replace it with worry, they came upon a moonlit clearing, sequestered so deep within the forest that Michael could not imagine how Gavin ever found it in the first place. Movement in the clearing caught Michael’s eye. It was Gavin, moving towards the center of the gap in the trees. He was silhouetted against the moonlight, swaying awkwardly as he walked. Michael realized he was limping. Concern flashed through Michael and he shifted, about to move into the clearing to help his friend.

    And then Gavin dropped to his knees, letting loose a scream that stopped Michael dead in his tracks.

    “Gavin?” Michael whispered. He could barely hear himself over his own racing heart, let alone his roommate’s tortured yelling. The boy was on all fours in the grass, back arched as he pressed his forehead into the dirt. His limbs were shifting strangely in the moonlight, as if each were writhing in its own independent pain.

    Gavin screamed, his loudest yet, the sound trailing into a howl of pain. It both tore at Michael and terrified him. He wanted to run to his friend, and run back the school, and run to anywhere but here, but his fear only managed to keep him rooted in place.

    A crack, like a gunshot, suddenly echoed through the trees.

    Michael gasped, his body jerking with fright. A moment later and another crack sounded, then another. Gavin’s screams had faded, replaced with groans as the moonlight danced over his body. The shifting shadows gave the impression that Gavin’s skin was squirming.

    It was both fascinating and stomach turning, and for some reason Michael through it looked almost familiar.

    His thoughts were derailed by another crack, louder than the others, followed by Gavin’s shoulder suddenly distending in a way that no human body could ever manage. A moment later and the other shoulder did the same, and suddenly all of Gavin’s limbs were stretching and growing, muscles bulging, and the illusion of the moonlight was revealed to be no illusion as Gavin’s skin and hair and bones moved in a way that Michael had only seen once before.

    It was a few years ago, when his father had taken him out on one of their joint dragon hunts. Intended to be lessons for Michael, they had usually turned into bouts of failure for the frustrated and unskilled trainer.

    But not this one. It was late, the moon high in the night sky when they stumbled across the young man in the woods. It was late, and the man seemed intoxicated and lost, so they had decided to offer him help.

    Instead of a response, the man started to scream. Michael had never seen his father move so fast as he grabbed his son and bolted through the woods. He hadn’t allowed them to stop moving until they were back in the saddle of his father’s Irish Ridgeback and flying high over the trees. Amongst the clouds, Michael had learned for the first time what kind of monsters _really_ inhabited their world.

    He’d heard stories of werewolves, of course. Werebeasts could be found all over the world, and in all shapes and sizes. And every one of them, without exception, were dangerous.

    “But wouldn’t he be able to tell we weren’t trying to hurt him?” Michael had asked, thinking back on the pack of actual wolves he and his father had once encountered. His father had explained that the trick with wolves was to move carefully and ignore them, treating them with respect and indifference. As long as you did that they wouldn’t see you as a threat, and as long as you kept your guard up they would sense you weren’t a pray item either.

    The elder Jones had shook his head, his gaze heavy as he explained that a werewolf wasn’t like a wolf, or even a human for that matter. When a man turned into a werebeast, the very chemistry of his brain changed. In werewolves, the intelligence and compassion wolves and humans shared was smothered, the areas devoted to rage and pure animal instinct heightened ten-fold.

    Once transformed, his father explained, werewolves could think of nothing but one thing and one thing only—survival, and doing every vicious, violent thing they needed to do to achieve it.

    A single, piercing howl shattered the night air, and Michael was quickly reminded of the vicious survival machine that was now only a few feet away from him. Hunched over, Gavin’s shadowed form quivered in the center of the clearing, whimpering softly. Michael’s heart hammered in his throat.

    He needed to get away, and he needed to do it _now_.

    Running through breathing exercises long committed to memory, Michael moved slowly. He placed each footstep carefully, checking for anything that might snap or crunch with a light tap before putting down his weight. He continued to breathe, slow and even, doing his best to keep his body from going into full-fledged fight or flight.

    It was a dragon trick. Dragons could smell adrenalin and could ear heartbeats, so someone trying to sneak up on them (or away from them) needed to be able to keep both in check. Michael wasn’t sure if the same held true for werewolves, but he figured safe was his best bet right, now and didn’t question it further.

    His logic seemed to be holding up. Gavin had not moved beyond a bit of snuffling and groaning as he shifted his limbs into more comfortable positions. Having never seen a full werewolf transformation, Michael wondered if this was normal. Maybe they needed time to adjust to their new bodies, and Gavin would not even be able to come after him right away.

    Michael’s father always told him that his rosy attitude about things was a potential liability. It caused him to lower his guard. But Michael, as he watched Gavin continue to _not_ rip him to shreds, couldn’t help but feel a flare of pride. His bright-side attitude was not hurting him now, was it? It was probably helping him stay calm as he made his escape—a plus, if his father’s training was to be believed.

    So calm, in fact, that Michael allowed himself to move a little faster, knowing that the more distance he put between himself and his ravenous roommate the better.

    He was moving so quickly, and making such good time for someone trying to sneak, that is was almost inevitable that _something_ would come up to slow him down (even if only to, once again, prove his father right).

    Every ounce of silence he’d managed to cobble together was scattered by the exposed root that snagged his heel and brought him toppling to the ground.

    Golden eyes flashed above jagged yellowed fangs exposed under snarling lips.

    Michael’s heart stopped.

    “Gavin?” he tried to say, only for the word to stick in his throat. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Gavin, are you in there?”

    The werewolf growled, a low, wet rumble deep in its chest. Its gaze remained on Michael. Neither one of them moved, both waiting to see how the other was going to react. Michael’s muscles quivered with fear. His gaze darted away from his roommate for a second—only a second—to check for an escape route. It was a tiny motion, barely a twitch, but it was enough.

    The werewolf charged.

    Shouting in terror, Michael scrambled back to his feet and tore through the trees, violent snarls right on his heels. Thankfully his training chose that moment to take charge and he began to dodge and weave, moving on pure, panicked instinct. His agile movements helped to put at least some distance between him and the thudding paws, but these were techniques meant for lumbering dragons, not lithe wolf-man monsters, and even with all his athletics Michael could tell he was not going to be able to lose Gavin completely.

    Just as Michael skidded around a thick trunk, barely dodging the clawed swipe at his back, he spotted his salvation. An ancient oak, nobly and tall, barely fifty feet away. Praying that he wasn’t underestimating werewolf climbing abilities, Michael made a beeline for the tree.

    The werewolf howled, like a hound after a coon. Michael was sure he could feel the heat of its breath on his neck as he closed the final distance to the oak.

    He hurled himself into the branches, headless of the rough bark scraping open his palms. Terrifying bays and howls, like nothing Michael had ever heard, followed him into the leafy boughs. His hands scrabbled against the rough bark, tearing open bleeding scrapes in the soft flesh of his palms, but he could barely feel the pain as he scrambled higher. It wasn’t until he was in the highest branches of the trees, where they began splintering too thin to hold his weight, that he allowed himself to stop and catch his breath and look behind him.

    He spotted the werewolf scrabbling at the base of the tree, barking furiously but not following him up.

    “Thank everything holy that you can’t climb,” Michael whispered, forehead falling against a branch. He wondered how long he would have to stay up in the branches before Gavin got distracted and left him a chance to escape.

    In true Gavin fashion, it wasn’t long. Eventually something scurrying in the underbrush drew the werewolf’s attention and, with a final huff at its escaped prey, it trundled off to harangue whatever unsuspecting squirrel had gained its ire.

    Michael breathed a sigh so heavy it felt like his very soul slipped out his chest. His relief was short lived, however, as he picked up on the sound of the werewolf tromping around in the distance. Werewolves were still a little bit wolf, and liked to maintain a semblance of a territory in their more beastly form. It was likely Gavin would stay relatively close by. Michael frowned, not sure how long he should wait to be sure Gavin had forgotten about him enough to make his escape.

    In the end, Michael waited until sunrise, not overly willing to test his luck any further. Thankfully his perch was close to one of the forest’s walking trails, and he was able to follow it quickly back to campus. As he walked, Michael found himself gazing down at his hands, still scrapped and raw. He wondered how he would explain the injuries to Gavin. _Oh, these? Just spent the night hiding from wolf-you in a tree. No biggie._ He shook his head.

    He and his roommate were going to have a _lot_ to talk about when he got back to school.

    By the time he arrived back to the dorm, Gavin was already curled up in bed, fresh dirt tracked around the room. Michael sighed, rubbing his face. Suddenly Gavin’s mysterious filth made a lot more sense.

    He sat on the edge of his bed, too wired from the night’s events to even think about going back to sleep. He would just wait for Gavin to wake, and then they would have their talk. Snowball came to join him while he waited, chirruping and growling as he made himself comfortable on Michael’s pillow.

    The morning sun was pouring through their bedroom window, the sounds of people shuffling off to class echoing around the halls, by the time Gavin rolled over. He yawned loud and wide, stretching arms still dusted with dirt. His tangle of hair popped out from under the sheets a moment later. Half a twigging was sticking out of it, just above his ear.

    “Good morning,” Michael said stiffly.

    “’Morning,” Gavin started to respond. He trailed off when he spotted his friend, brown eyes darting as they took in Michael’s rumpled, sleep-less self. “Oh,” he said simply.

    “Oh,” Michael replied, wondering if Gavin could remember what happened in the woods. A little bit, it seemed, if the kaleidoscope of emotions playing across his face was anything to go by. Gavin tried to say something, paused, and then asked a tentative,

    “How did you sleep?”

    “I think you know the answer to that one,” Michael said. Gavin bit his lip, picking nervously at his pillowcase. After a tense moment he blurted out an,

    “I can explain!”

    “You’d better hope so,” Michael said, scowling. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner. By the way, you’re buying a vacuum after class today.”

    “I—what?”

    Michael motioned to the dirt on the carpet, continuing to frown.

    “Vacuum. You. This,” he pointed for emphasis. “If I’m going to share a room with a werewolf, he’s going to have to be a clean werewolf.”

    Gavin started at him, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish.

    “You still want to be roommates?” he finally whispered.

    “Of course I do,” Michael said. “Who else is going to put up with all my dragon stuff? Or your _dragon_ , for that matter?”

    “But I think…I think I tried to eat you,” Gavin mumbled.

    “You’re not the biggest thing that’s tried to eat me,” Michael assured him, thinking back to the enormous gold Shanxi Spitfire that tried to swallow him whole three days before his tenth birthday. “Speaking of trying to eat me,” Michael continued when Gavin’s stomach gave a sudden rumble, “I think we’re about to be late for breakfast.”

    He could practically feel Gavin gaping at him as he got dressed, though it wasn’t until he tossed one of Gavin’s purple jackets at the boy that his roommate finally started shrugging on some clothing. Michael was locking their dorm door when Gavin finally spoke again.

    “Hey, Michael,” he whispered, glancing at a few kids walking past.

    “Yeah?” Michael whispered back.

    “Thanks.”

    “For what?” Michael asked innocently.

    “For accepting me,” Gavin said. “Ever since the, uh, _bite_ , no one—well, no one really wants to be friends with a werewolf, you know? So I…”

    Michael glanced over to meet Gavin’s decidedly watery look. Michael grinned, and then grabbed his friend in a headlock.

    “Don’t mention it,” he said. Gavin laughed, wrestling around until he and Michael had their arms around each other’s shoulders. “You’re my first friend in a while too, you know.”

    “Yeah,” Gavin said, grinning. “We’re just to weirdo-peas-in-a-pod, huh?”

    “Something like that,” Michael agreed.

    As they walked off down the hall, Michael thought about all the people he’d met so far at The Academy: Ray, who liked to hover around the shadows but seemed terrified to actually say hello; Lindsay, who never seemed to have to actually pick up anything she dropped; Meg, who always seemed to go screaming through any room Ray was near, and Jeremy, who kept making awkward excuses every time Michael found him wandering the dorm halls with arms full of bottles and flasks of who-knew-what. And that didn’t even include the _teachers._

    He sighed.

    Maybe boarding school wasn’t what he’d wanted, Michael thought, but with surprise werewolf friends and more surprises lingering around the corner, maybe it wasn’t going to be such a terrible experience after all.


End file.
